Page 103 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Overtime

characteristics, one which most people would not think of doing: I
will reverse the background color from white to black.”
She clicked and the screen flashed once. The text changed from
black on white to white on black. But it wasn’t the same text. I
blinked.
“You see, it is really a single-spaced document, with lines
alternating in opposite foreground and background colors. You can’t
see the white letters on the white background; same for the black
when it’s black. It’s as good as invisible ink—and as easy to make
visible, if you know how.”
“But—but what is it? What does it say?”
“It appears to be a sort of whistleblower’s diary, an account of
everything Kates could uncover about the Y2K project that was not
quite legal. The fact that I was able to recover it from his files today
suggests that his intended target either did not know it existed,
scanned it but did not guess at its concealed content—or was unable
to get at it before I gained access to your system.”
I strained to read the tiny white-on-black display turned half-way
toward me. “Do you mean this has some bearing on the death of Mr.
Kates?” If this didn’t reveal me as clinging to the shreds of denial,
nothing would.
“That is for a jury to decide. On the face of it, this could be
damning evidence.”
I desperately wanted to read the thing myself before she reversed
the background and closed up her machine. But just then Beau strode
in from the hallway leading to the elevators. He was one of those
men who made a habit of walking quickly and heavily, so that even in
a carpeted office it was both visually and aurally perceptible that here
was an important personage en route to important meetings. He was
tall and rangy, florid-faced and running to gray at the temples and fat
at the waist, in his forties but bright and chipper as a teenager.
“Any messages, Maud Lynn?” he boomed. “Why is everyone so
damned somber this morning? It’s like a morgue around here!”

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